


it's culture

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Except When It Comes To Men, Fluff, Furniture Shopping, Harry Has Bad Taste, IKEA Furniture, M/M, Moving In Together, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 12:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13147188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: “I can feel you watching me,” Neville says, after a moment, and they both startle slightly. He doesn’t turn around, but he does hold up a bunch of wax grapes for them to see. “If I buy these, will you both promise not to forget and eat them in a pre-coffee morning haze?”There’s a slightly guilty silence, and Neville sighs, placing the grapes back on the shelf.“Thought not.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Drarryville! I don't know why! Just because! Also, I don't know how IKEA works. Hope you enjoy it!

There’s a scream building in Draco’s throat. The only reason he doesn’t let it loose when Neville comes back with the wrong colour throw cushions, for the third time in a row, is because of the nervous expression on Neville’s face. A lifetime ago, the nervousness would have annoyed him, but instead of throwing a stinging hex, or sneering, like thirteen-year-old Draco would have done, he purses his lips together in a fruitless attempt to hide his displeasure. 

“They’re the wrong ones, aren’t they?” Neville says, crestfallen. 

Harry pokes his head around the corner and then saunters up the aisle. “They look white to me.”

“Cream,” Draco snaps. “They were supposed to be _cream_ , not white, not off-white, not bloody _blue_ , like you brought me last time. We’re supposed to have a theme in our living room, so that people don’t actually think we live like Hippogriffs.”

Harry rolls his eyes, kissing away Neville’s dejected expression. Draco’s mouth goes a little dry at the sight of them, kissing gently in the middle of the aisle in IKEA. Harry cradles the soft line of Neville’s jaw with one dark hand, and Draco clears his throat loudly as someone rushes past the other end of the aisle. Both of them part, slightly dazed. 

“Not that I wasn’t enjoying that, but I don’t think this is really the place for that sort of thing,” Draco says drily.

“This coming from the man who _groped_ me at the last Ministry party in full view of everyone, including the Minister for Magic,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. 

“Besides, the pillows still aren’t the right colour, and snogging isn’t going to change that.”

Neville wrinkles his nose at the word _snogging_ , which is precisely the reason why Draco says it, although he’ll never admit to finding that expression cute, of all things. 

“I’ll go and get you some different pillows,” Neville says. Draco waits until he’s turned around before wheeling around to glower at Harry, who looks entirely unrepentant. 

“I gave you a palette with all the correct colours on it for a reason, Potter,” Draco hisses, grabbing Harry by the jacket while Neville disappears down the aisle, pillows tucked against the soft curve of his stomach. “I swear you’re doing this to me on purpose.”

The smirk on Harry’s face is the only confirmation he needs. Draco resists the temptation to throttle him by focusing on Neville’s ass disappearing around the corner, and then he breathes in deeply through his nose and points Harry in the direction of the trolley. 

“You’re in charge of that,” Draco says. “Try not to run over any unsuspecting pedestrians.” 

Harry quirks one eyebrow, grinning cockily. Draco _hates_ that expression, because it never fails to ignite a fire in him. He shoos Harry towards the trolley and goes back to examining the lamp in front of him. 

“I still can’t believe you agreed to shop in IKEA, of all places,” Harry says, idly kicking the ground with his foot, balancing on the rung of the trolley. Draco eyes the distance between Harry and the ground warily; if the trolley tips over, Draco’s not going to help him. He’s going to point and laugh and commit the moment to memory, maybe pack it away in a pensieve and bring it out at Christmas, or on special occasions. 

“Neville feels more comfortable here,” Draco says absently, flicking the price tag over and examining the base of the lamp. He realises his mistake when he feels lips against his cheek. 

“Such a Gryffindor,” Harry murmurs, and Draco can’t be held accountable for the way Harry suddenly finds himself sprawled on the floor. 

It was obviously an accident. _Obviously_. 

*

“We’re buying this.” 

Harry makes a beeline for the most repulsive canvas Draco’s ever seen in his life. He shares a horrified expression with Neville, who looks a little green at the thought of hanging that in their living room. It’s brightly coloured, all different shades of the rainbow, and there are four black pictures of sloths, one in each corner. It looks, frankly, like something that’s been spat out by a toddler. 

Neville tries for a placating expression, but it just comes out looking vaguely ill. “Harry, don’t you think that’s a bit… much?” 

“It’s bloody awful,” Draco says plainly. Harry snaps his head up to glare at Draco, his green eyes flashing wildly, and then he picks the canvas up off the shelf slowly, making eye contact with Draco the entire time. 

“Potter.” 

Harry storms towards the trolley. 

_“Potter.”_

The canvas is promptly placed inside the trolley, next to the correct throw pillows. Draco snarls something wordless, pinching the bridge of his nose. Neville is studiously avoiding both of their gazes, and Draco can’t tell if he’s trying to avoid an argument or if he’s just trying not to laugh hysterically. 

“Potter, it looks like a rainbow made love to a gumball machine and birthed this monstrosity,” Draco says exasperatedly. 

“It was popular in the 1960’s,” Harry says, shrugging. “It’s culture.”

Draco splutters, and so does Neville, but for entirely different reasons. He can see Neville’s shoulders shaking, and obviously Harry can too, because he grins widely. 

“You’re just encouraging him, Neville,” Draco mutters, shifting slightly towards the trolley with intent. Harry folds both arms over his chest and adopts a protective stance over the canvas. 

“We are buying it,” Harry says, enunciating carefully. 

“It can go in the bedroom, so only we have to see it,” Neville offers, still choking slightly on laughter. 

“Wonderful,” Draco says. “Just what I’ve always wanted when I go to sleep at night; four sloths staring me down from inside Joseph’s Technicolour Dreamcoat.”

*

Neville is in his element. Draco watches him survey the pots and pans and cutlery and kitchenware with a look of soft delight, his own mouth twitching up into a smile. 

“Technically, we don’t really need any kitchen stuff,” Harry says, eyes glued to Neville’s round, slack shoulders. He’s humming as he runs his fingers over different boxes, some Muggle tune that Draco doesn’t recognise, wide hips swaying slightly as he bobs along. 

“We have a whole bunch of stuff from my first flat, and you’ve got loads of fancy china that we’re probably not allowed to use,” Harry continues. Draco raises an eyebrow, a sly smile creeping over his face. 

“Oh, well, in that case, I’ll just go and tell him that we’re leaving.”

Harry throws an arm out before he can take more than half a step forward, dragging Draco back with a glare. 

“Don’t you dare,” Harry says. “You know how much he loves to bake. He could buy two of everything and I wouldn’t care, and neither would you.”

Draco doesn’t deny it. Instead, he curves an arm around Harry’s waist hesitantly, conscious of the fact that they’re surrounded by strangers. Harry leans into him without hesitation, sighing happily, and they both stand and watch as Neville makes a sound of pure delight, having discovered the array of fake fruit. 

“I can feel you watching me,” Neville says, after a moment, and they both startle slightly. He doesn’t turn around, but he does hold up a bunch of wax grapes for them to see. “If I buy these, will you both promise not to forget and eat them in a pre-coffee morning haze?” 

There’s a slightly guilty silence, and Neville sighs, placing the grapes back on the shelf. 

“Thought not.” 

*

Neville’s bright yellow fruit bowl – full of real apples and grapes – doesn’t really work with the dark-wood furniture that Draco’s painstakingly picked out, but he puts it on the coffee table regardless, sitting down beside Neville on the couch. The throw pillows are comfortable at his back, even if they are the wrong shade of cream. The sloth canvas does not go in the bedroom like Harry promised, but instead gets pride and place on the far wall, where the sloths can stare directly into Draco’s soul. 

Draco averts his gaze, watching instead as Harry throws himself down on Neville’s other side and cracks a yawn, propping his socked feet up on the coffee table. Draco leans over Neville to knock them back down onto the floor, and Neville reels him into a long kiss before he can so much as utter a word. He feels Harry’s hand smooth its way up Neville’s thigh to find Draco’s hand and lace their fingers together. 

Draco can’t help but think that none of it should really go together, but for some reason, it _fits_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has been ‘helping’ for the past twenty minutes, since the first panel was thrown across the room, and Draco is quite ready to kill, at this point. 
> 
> Neville has wisely remained on the sofa throughout the entire process, cradling a cup of tea and doodling mandrakes on the back of a Quidditch catalogue. He’s the only one with any sense; Draco lost his when he agreed to put up IKEA furniture _without_ magic, and he doesn't think Harry ever had any in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discord chats lead to creative streaks, so thank you everyone! Just a little something, and nowhere near as funny out loud as it was in my head, but still fun to write. Hope you enjoy!

_Hour One_

A bookshelf, a bedside table and a bathroom unit will not defeat Draco. He refuses to go down in history as the man who was beaten by IKEA furniture. 

“Trust me,” Harry says, when Draco voices this particular denial, “you wouldn’t be the first.”

He _will_ go down in history as the first man to beat someone else _with_ IKEA furniture. 

“No, you really won’t,” Harry says, laughing, when Draco voices this particular goal. 

“You know, you could always just use magic to put it all up,” Neville suggests, like he hasn’t suggested the same thing approximately fifty times in the past half hour. Like it’s a new suggestion, a revelation, and not a sequence of words that make Draco want to bash his own head against the collection of wooden panels by his knees. 

“But Neville,” Harry says, his green eyes glinting maniacally, “Muggles put this stuff up every day without magic. Surely a wizard should be able to do it easily, then, also without magic.”

Neville tips his head back against the sofa in exasperation. 

Draco grinds his teeth together and glares at Harry. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What?”

“You’re trying to make his head explode,” Neville says, before Draco can call Harry a number of foul things. Harry’s grin is - well, wicked. There’s no other word for it. Part of Draco is thrilled by the sight, since he’s used to seeing it in _other situations,_ but mostly he just wants to tie Harry to a chair and silently shred his favourite (repulsive) sloth canvas right in front of him. 

“I just want to see how far he gets before he admits defeat and uses magic.” Harry picks up one of the squiggly nails that presumably goes in the bathroom unit, but could also be a complementary doorstop, for all the instructions tell him, and fits it into the wrong hole. 

Harry has been ‘helping’ for the past twenty minutes, since the first panel was thrown across the room, and Draco is quite ready to kill, at this point. 

Neville has wisely remained on the sofa throughout the entire process, cradling a cup of tea and doodling mandrakes on the back of a Quidditch catalogue. He’s the only one with any sense; Draco lost his when he agreed to put up IKEA furniture _without_ magic, and he doesn't think Harry ever had any in the first place. 

“We need mood music,” Harry decides, as he surveys the mess all over the floor. 

“Yes, because _that’s_ the problem here. The lack of background noise. Not that the instructions are all gibberish and you keep insisting that I’m building the bookshelf upside down.”

“Well, you are!”

“Fuck off, Potter.”

“We only have one CD,” Neville interrupts, with infinite patience. “And I really don't think it’s going to improve the atmosphere in here.”

An expression of pure evil descends on Harry’s face. 

*

_Hour Two_

“You can’t put a square peg in a round hole, and if you do, then you’re doing it wrong,” Harry sings. 

Draco clenches the nail tightly in his fist, only for Neville to cough and glance down at his hand pointedly. He’s wearing earmuffs to block out the horridly upbeat music pouring from their small silver CD player, but he can somehow still sense when Draco’s about to snap. 

“Potter,” Draco says. “If I have to listen to Bob the fucking Builder sing about the right tool for the job one more time, I’m going to put my fist through your eye.”

“So violent, Malfoy,” Harry says, tapping his foot along to the beat from his sprawled out position on the floor. “Not enjoying the Bob the Builder album? You’d think you’d have a little more respect for Teddy’s favourite song.”

“Teddy is small and uncultured,” Draco complains. “He thinks mashed peas are a delicacy. Please, Harry, turn it off.”

Harry relents at the sound of his first name, although he’s still grinning like a fiend. Draco lets out a sigh at the blessed silence, only to groan when he lays eyes on the monstrosity in front of him. It doesn’t really resemble a bookshelf at all. 

Harry props himself up on his elbows and winces. “‘S not too bad. Kind of wonky, though.”

“Wonky,” Draco says flatly. 

Harry nods slowly. “Yeah. We could always pretend it’s modern art. You look like the kind of wan -- person who’d have modern art in his bedroom.”

Neville coughs a laugh and then hunkers down to avoid Draco’s glare, still grinning behind his fist. 

*

_Hour Three_

“You’re definitely not supposed to put that bit there,” Draco observes, munching down on a chocolate digestive. 

Harry glowers at him as he tries to keep one of the shelves in place and reach for the nail at the same time. The shelf is plainly in the wrong position, but apparently Harry is just as blind _with_ his glasses as well as without them, which partly explains why Draco is so much better at catching the snitch than he is. 

“If you don't shut up,” Harry says, “I’ll put the next bit in you.”

Neville chokes on his own chocolate digestive. Draco observes Harry’s red cheeks and takes another bite with dignity. 

“Is that a promise?”

*

_Hour Four_

Draco stands in the kitchen doorway, stretching out the kinks in his knees from sitting on the floor all day, and startles as Neville creeps up behind him. He hands Draco a cup of strong coffee and leans against him. He smells strongly of Draco’s apple shampoo, but Draco doesn’t mind much. He quite likes it, in fact. 

“I don't think I can watch much more of this,” Neville says. “I have a plan, if you like?”

Draco sips his coffee and hums, watching as Harry prods at the bathroom unit warily. It collapses into a pile of wood within seconds, and Harry stares blankly at the mess as Draco suppresses a snort of laughter. 

“I mean, this is just pathetic.”

Neville gives him a look that states quite plainly that Draco has been no less pathetic, these past few hours. 

Draco clears his throat. “What did you have in mind?”

He gets a kiss on the cheek for his agreement, and Neville gets a proper kiss once he explains his plan. 

Harry had put both Draco and his own wands in the fruit bowl before they started this mess, but Neville’s wand remains in his pocket. And the deal was that Draco couldn’t give in and use magic, but nobody said anything about Neville, because Neville had wisely removed himself. 

Harry pops to the toilet, taking both wands with him for safe-keeping, and Draco flaps his hands at Neville, who ignores him. He lifts his wand in his own time and says the correct spells, and Draco watches as the pieces soar together to resemble a bookshelf, a bedside table and a bathroom unit. He pushes the bookshelf, which now obscures his vision of a very relieved Neville, and it doesn’t fall over, which is reason enough to launch himself around it and press Neville into the cushions, kissing him senseless. 

“Oi,” says a vexing voice from above them. “I know you didn’t develop seventy arms and a brain while I was gone, so how the hell did you use magic when I have your wand? You’re shit at wandless magic.”

Draco resurfaces to swear viciously at Harry, who’s standing with a hand on his hips, both wands sticking out of his pocket. 

“I am not shit at anything, Potter, but regardless, it wasn’t me who used the magic, so I don't forfeit your little challenge.”

Harry squints down at Neville, who looks a little winded. Neville gives a weak little wave from amongst the cushions. 

“Betrayed by my own partner,” Harry says. He unsticks the wands and places them on the table before cracking his back and sighing. “At least we don't have to struggle with that lot anymore, I guess. It kind of gets boring watching you be constantly wrong, Malfoy. Usually there’s a little reprieve between each mistake, but this was just relentless.”

Draco gapes as Harry hops over the back of the sofa and wriggles in between them, presumably crushing Neville under his giant inflated head. He then proceeds to also kiss Neville senseless, and Draco sighs. 

“Honestly, Potter. If you’re going to insult me, you could at least have the decency not to steal my kissing partner too.”

Harry breaks away for long enough to say, “If you shut up and get down here, I might consider kissing you too.”

Neville sighs from somewhere underneath them. “One of you better kiss me, or I’m going to knock all of the units down and not let you in the bed until you’ve put them all up without magic, for real this time.”

Draco shares a wide-eyed look with Harry, and then the real battle begins. 

Draco really won’t be defeated this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much! Let me know what you thought <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit rough, needs an edit, but it's up anyway. I really hope you liked it. Please leave a comment/kudos and let me know what you thought, I'd love to hear from you, and come say hey @thealmostrhetoricalquestion on tumblr. Thank you so much!


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